


To the Life That Used to Be

by MariaLee



Series: Not Perfection but Completeness [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking & Talking, Gen, Light Angst, Nostalgia, Platonic Cuddling, Pre-Amnesia Revan, The Force, Unrequited Love, War, happier times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 11:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaLee/pseuds/MariaLee
Summary: A frigid night on a distant world causes the exiled Meetra Surik to sit alone and remember a much different time in her life. A time when Malak was still Alek and Revan was still alive, before they all gave in to their inner darkness. She remembers a single moment during the war when three friends sat together and shared a drink.





	To the Life That Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from “Drink With Me” from Les Miserables. However, the story is also heavily inspired by “The Story of Tonight” from Hamilton and “Here’s A Health to the Company,” a traditional Irish song.
> 
> There are no real spoilers for No Light without Shadow, though some of Meetra's observations clarify a few minor things that aren't as clear from Vann/Revan's POV.

_“Drink with me to days gone by_  
_To the life that used to be_  
_At the shrine of friendship never say die_  
_Let the wine of friendship never run dry_  
_Here's to you and here's to me”_  
 - Drink With Me (Les Miserables)  
  
  
Meetra blew on her bare hands as she huddled in the bed of her rented room, hiding beneath the rough blankets from the chill that slipped through the tiny transparisteel window. On a warmer planet the small space would feel stifling and claustrophobic, but here on this frigid ball of ice it almost felt cozy. Another gust rattled the panes and she drew the covers closer, wiggling her toes within her thick socks. Shivering despite her layers, she idly mused that this was probably the coldest planet she’d been to since…

Well, since the war if she really sat and analyzed things, though the realization didn’t immediately come to mind since lately, she’d been avoiding any mention of her time as a general. It wasn’t out of shame or regret. No, if given the opportunity she’d probably do the same things the same way all over again. She mostly avoided the subject because fringers had finally stopped cursing at former soldiers and Mandalorians alike, and she wasn’t about to shatter the delicate peace that held society together this far at the edges of known space.

The tips of Meetra’s fingers were starting to go numb and she flexed them experimentally just to see where the sensation ended. It wasn’t anything serious and she could probably sleep like this, she’d slept through far worse during the war, but it was still uncomfortable. Sighing, she wrapped the thickest blanket around her shoulders and slipped out of bed, shuffling awkwardly across the cold floor as she trailed the rumpled fabric in her wake. If she closed her eyes it almost felt like a robe.

Once Meetra reached the pack she’d stashed in a corner, she jammed her hand inside and rooted through the contents until she felt the slender outline of the flask that she stowed for just this occasion. Teeth chattering from the chill seeping up from the floor, she hurried back to bed and bundled herself into a pile, the flask clutched tightly as she unscrewed the cap. She wasn’t normally a drinker since she liked her senses sharp when surrounded by strangers. This far out civility was barely a formality and a blade to the back was almost as common as a handshake.

But this was an exception. Cold like this called for exceptions, and as Meetra sniffed the contents of her flask she recalled hearing the same phrase uttered a relative lifetime ago. She steeled herself and took a swig, wrinkling her nose as the pungent liquor burned its way down her throat. But as it settled in her gut she felt a warming sensation spreading through her torso and sighed. The local ‘juice’ was designed for this weather. It smelled like it could melt through durasteel and tasted like ship fuel, but it was exactly what was needed in these frigid conditions. While it didn’t _actually_ warm anyone up, it created the _illusion_ of warmth and sometimes moral was more important than health.

Meetra took another long pull from the flask and closed her eyes, swallowing the sting and letting the artificial warmth infuse her. _‘Cold like this calls for exceptions.’_ Oh, she remembered those words. Spoken with a wry grin from the lips of the person she trusted, and would probably always trust, more than anyone else in the galaxy…

The three of them were clustered together in a weather-worn building that had become their makeshift shelter on a no-name moon. It wasn’t that the moon’s name was immemorable. No, Meetra could recall the name of every surface she stepped foot on during the war, reciting them with perfect clarity in chronological order. It was simply that this moon _had_ no name. There were a few letters and numbers that served as an official designation, but it was ultimately too insignificant to earn a proper title.

That was why they were here, Revan and Alek-now-Malak and Meetra, the faces of the Republic Mercy Corps. It was rare that the three of them convened in a single place outside of combat maneuvers as Revan viewed their combined presence as ‘tactically unwise.’ He was right of course, he was usually right about military strategies, though it sometimes made planning difficult. But three days ago, after suffering heavy losses on two Inner-Rim worlds and four separate colonies throughout the Mid and Outer Rims, he had deemed it necessary for the trio to meet.

So, Meetra and Alek (always Alek to her and never ‘Captain Malak’) had come to this frozen moon in separate shuttles for a clandestine rendezvous with their Commander. It was only supposed to take one standard day, after which they would depart with new strategies for their units and a fresh plan of action against the ongoing Mandalorian assault. In typed messages sent through encrypted channels, it had seemed so simple.

But those communiques never mentioned sudden blizzards that seemed to coalesce from the ether, bringing snow so thick that they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces. They’d used the Force to drive back the ice and winds long enough for them to seek shelter in what was little more than a durasteel shack, left by some intrepid explorers who clearly had more ambition than sense. The thin walls did little to hold back the howling, frigid gusts of air but at least it was relatively sturdy and free of the heavy, wet flakes that were piling up outside. Revan sealed the door shut using one of his ‘sabers, the blue blade comfortingly familiar in the dark space.

That had all happened some hours ago, though Meetra wasn’t sure how many. Time passed oddly with little light and only the howling wind and bitter cold to remind them of the world beyond the battered metal walls. Luckily, they all traveled with supplies clipped to their belts and tucked into the pockets of their robes, providing them with heating packs, glow rods, and enough ration bars to keep them satisfied for a bit. Meditation also helped, at least in theory.

“Good location Revan, very tactically sound. The Mandalorians will never find us here.” Alek was sitting in the center of the room, beside what had become their makeshift camp. “Of course, we’ll also be lucky if the Republic finds the frozen husks of our corpses once this storm clears.”

“We’re not going to freeze to death,” Meetra gently corrected. “At least, not before we starve. Meditating to raise your body temperature also increases your metabolism.”

“We’re not dying here.” Sitting beside Alek, Revan was adjusting one of his lightsabers beneath the dull glow of a rod tucked behind his ear. The pieces were floating just above his lap, laid out in perfect order. “Come on, you can’t really be this frightened of a little kriffing snow!”

Meetra and Alek exchanged a glance as amusement passed through the Force between them. They’d all spent a decent portion of their lives on Dantooine where snow was rare beyond the poles, and their combined experience with blizzards was best described as _extremely limited_. None of them had much practical experience to guide them in this situation. But somehow Revan was still supremely confident, the emotion glowing around him as he refused to acknowledge that his careful planning had gone completely awry.

While self-assurance was a good trait in a leader, on a personal level it could be _incredibly_ annoying.

“It’s not the snow I’m afraid of. It’s the extreme drop in temperature that’s going to occur once this moon is facing away from its sun.” Though Alek’s expression was grim, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that only Meetra caught.

Not looking up from his project, Revan gently manipulated a few of the pieces so that they fit together more securely. He always claimed that tinkering helped him think. “It will let up in a few hours.”

“You said that six hours ago.”

“I said ‘a few.’ That’s not an exact number!” Sliding the parts of his ‘saber back together with a wave of his hands, Revan glared at his friend. “It will let up. We’ll be fine. I’m right and you _know_ it.”

Alek arched a brow as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You don’t know a _thing_ about this moon except that it’s uninhabited and covered in snow.  Admit it. If you had known that day-long blizzards were common and that there were no permanent structures within walking distance of our rendezvous point you wouldn’t have called us here.”

“It’s an ice moon. Of _course_ I knew that snow was a possibility.” Angrily clipping his weapon back onto his belt, Revan huffed as his Force presence shuddered with a wave of chilled irritation. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Seemingly indifferent to the raw ripple of power caused by the other man’s aggravation, Alek insisted, “You don’t know everything. _Admit it_.”

“I know enough!”

Meetra had to stifle a laugh at the undeniably petulant expression that crossed Revan’s face, his mask having been tucked into his belt hours ago when it became clear that they were stranded for the long haul. She could sense the sheer amusement floating off Alek as he continued to rile up his oldest friend, obviously enjoying that he could achieve such an outburst with only a few well-placed quips.

Somehow, he managed to keep a straight face as he sighed, “I know it’s hard for you to admit it, but just this once you were _wrong_.”

“Arrgh!” Slamming both palms against the floor, Revan’s frustration caused the walls of the shed to quiver violently. “Fine, I may have made some miscalculations! There, are you happy you absolute bastard?”

Alek pretended to think for a moment. “Yes. Thank you. Did that actually _hurt_ for you to say?”

“Oh, kriff you!”

This time Meetra did laugh as she witnessed the reemergence of the boys she remembered from childhood, a pair that had been equal parts inseparable and insufferable. For a brief instant, the strain of the war was lifted and they were children again, two older troublemakers and a smaller, younger figure who admired them from afar.

And, looking back on it all, Meetra realized that during the war they were still little more than children. Naive idealists with dreams and a Sith-damned army to blast those aspirations into a reality.

But towards the beginning of it all, in that little shed on a no-name moon trapped by a raging blizzard, Meetra didn’t realize how young they were as she squeezed herself into the space between Alek and Revan, smiling calmly at the pair as one smirked and the other glowered. “Admitting one’s flaws isn’t weakness,” she reminded them. “Recognizing our mistakes is how we grow, and how we prevent ourselves from repeating them.”

“So sayeth the Consular,” Revan declared, though his tone was gentle.

“That’s why you Guardians need me around,” Meetra replied as she pressed her hip and thigh against Alek who always ran warm. She could feel his body heat even through their robes and she sighed happily. “Strength without wisdom and understanding isn’t strength at all.” Without asking she leaned her head against Revan’s shoulder, knowing from experience that he wouldn’t mind.

In response, the General only smiled and then reached down to lightly tug at the blonde tresses of Meetra’s ponytail. She rolled her eyes and burrowed her nose against his dark robes, inhaling the scent of ozone, ash, and Human musk. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Alek watching them as a sense of exasperation and fondness bloomed around him.

Meetra knew this type of casual closeness confused the taller man, and she suspected it was because he’d come to the Order at an older age and with years’ worth of memories from his life before the Jedi. While she’d never asked she had a feeling that, much like herself, Revan knew nothing but life in the Order. She couldn’t be certain since just enough years separated them that she _literally_ couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t a Jedi, but she had good reason for her suspicions.

Those reared in the creche for most of their youth shared little platonic touches without a second thought. After all, a Jedi was never alone which guaranteed that there was always someone around whether you liked it or not. Privacy and personal space were concepts that she’d only discovered during her first trips beyond the enclave as a Padawan. Back on Dantooine, it wasn’t unusual to see three or more Initiates piled together like loth-kittens as they napped or studied, heads in laps and limbs entwined. This also normalized contact and helped to prevent attachment once younglings reached puberty. After all, holding hands or hugging didn’t lead to much romance when it felt so mundane and ordinary.

Revan, Meetra had noticed, enjoyed physical contact. He never said as much, at least not verbally, but the slightest intentional nudge was enough to make his Force signature shine brightly in satisfaction. He also tended to touch those around him, patting the shoulder of a soldier who had performed admirably or grasping the wrist of a Revanchist who was ready to charge headlong into battle without considering tactics or consequences. All of this seemed subconscious, at least from what Meetra could tell. Even now she doubted that he noticed the way his cheek was resting gently atop her head as Alek stared at them in bewilderment.

Vaguely, Meetra wondered if Revan missed this when he was amongst his troops, surrounded by sentients blind to the Force and raised outside of the platonic affection that had filled their childhoods. She gently carded her fingers through his hair, carefully removing any tangles in the soft brown strands. _I’m here_ , she told him through the Force, filling her thoughts with all of the confidence and trust that she felt towards him. _I believe in you and what you’re doing. Even if you did get us stuck on this Sith-forsaken ice moon._

A chuckle escaped Alek as he also sensed the thought, his blue eyes sweeping over his companions with amusement. A sharp flare of affection flitted across his features as his gaze settled on Revan and a burst of heat surged through his presence. It dissipated in an instant but it was enough for Meetra to notice, mostly because she had sensed it before. In all of their time together, she had grown to understand that Alek’s admiration towards his friend wasn’t entirely Council-approved. She also knew that Revan remained blissfully oblivious. Silently, she sent hope into the Force that this wouldn’t be enough to drive them apart like the war had done to her and Atris…

Shaking away the darker emotions that were gnawing at the edges of her mind, Meetra noticed that Alek was shifting uncomfortably. A moment later he adjusted his robes and produced a small metal bottle from one of the inner pockets.

Revan lifted his head just enough to peer curiously at the item. “What’s that?”

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure.” Turning the bottle over in his palms, Alek explained, “The local militia gave it to me as a thank-you back on Taris, but I haven’t opened it.”

“Tarisian ale, perhaps?” Holding out his hand, Revan used the Force to snatch the item from his friend’s grasp despite a grunt of protest. Unscrewing the cap, he took a whiff only to recoil in surprise. Coughing, he winced, “No, that’s _not_ ale.”

Taking a daintier sniff, Meetra hummed thoughtfully. “Smells a little like Corellian Whiskey, but sweeter. Fruitier, maybe?”

“And how do _you_ know what Corellian Whiskey smells like, Surik?” Alek arched a brow as he used his own command of the Force to take the bottle back.

“I tried some on Coruscant when I was there with Master Ell. It was offered to us after we helped to negotiate an accord between Senators. Of course, that was all before…”

Even though she trailed off, the implication of Meetra’s words hung heavy in the air. _Before the Revanchists and the Mercy Corps. Before we were soldiers. Before we fully understood the horrors of war._

Alek cleared his throat and stared down at the bottle in his hands. “So… should we drink it?”

The three of them looked at each other questioningly, each one daring the other to agree. It was like they were children again, sneaking sweets from the kitchen after lights-out when all of the Masters were meditating or asleep. Somehow the bottle felt extremely taboo despite the fact that they were all adults, soldiers no less, and had every right to possess it.

“We shouldn’t.” Meetra shook her head as she looked towards the sealed door, listening to the wind battering the walls of the shack. “We need to be alert in case the storm gets worse, or in case it clears enough for us to get back to the ships.”

“It doesn’t sound like it’s clearing up.” Alek shook the bottle, causing the contents to slosh around inside. “And besides, this will help keep us warm.”

Revan snorted. “It won’t actually keep us warm. Alcohol causes blood vessels to dilate, creating the _illusion_ of warmth. But you actually lose heat faster.”

“Also, we’re technically on duty.” Rolling her eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, Meetra mutters, “There’s, well, rules about that.”

Another bout of silence descended over the trio, with Alek still holding the bottle and the blizzard continuing to rage outside. The Force shimmered uncertainty around them before suddenly alighting with dazzling amusement.

“Kriff it, I think we can make an exception to those rules.” Reaching out his hand Revan summoned the bottle again, this time without any resistance. His lips twisted into a wry grin as he declared, “Cold like this calls for exceptions.” Holding up the liquor he thought for a moment, studying the faces of his companions. “To the Revanchists. May we learn from our mistakes and prevent them from happening again.”

A hint of melancholy slipped through the Force and Meetra suddenly realized that Revan was still reeling from the Force disturbance caused by the massive casualties that the Republic had recently suffered. He must have been hiding it until now, shielding his mind so that others couldn’t sense the pain. That was a drawback to his incredible Force-sensitivity; every death echoed through him like the tolling of a bell. She also felt each loss of life, though perhaps not as acutely. While it clung to her thoughts for days, it didn’t cause the raw anguish that her friend experienced.

Holding out his hand to accept the bottle back, Alek leaned closer to the other man so that he was looking the smaller figure in the eyes as he spoke. “To our Commander, the only one with enough courage, conviction, and compassion to convince the entire Jedi Order to allow us to go to war.” He paused a moment before taking a swig and immediately grimacing. “Ugh. Revan, how did you not even _flinch_?”

“I guess I’m just made of tougher stuff.”

Meetra knew that was a lie, and Alek must have sensed it as well. Revan’s grief was now palpable, and likely far stronger than any physical sensation he was currently experiencing. While the implication was haunting, she honestly thought that he would discuss this when he was ready rather than letting it rot him from the inside.

Oh, if she only knew then what she came to learn throughout the war as she watched her friend cling to his pain and outrage in silence, embracing those emotions until they sometimes tainted his eyes a sickly yellow and poured out of his fingertips in forks of brilliant purple electricity. But she couldn’t blame him, not when she now knew that her own darkness had already started hardening her to the pain of the outside world. And yet, even with Revan dead and herself in exile, she didn’t feel regret for their choices.

Back then, in that bitterly cold shack, Meetra had no idea that all three of them were losing a battle with their inner darkness. She was only concerned with the bottle in her hands that smelled like a pungent mixture of overly ripe fruit and the fumes around Nar Shadda’s docks. Drawing a breath, she raised the drink. “To the future. May it be brighter than today… both literally and figuratively.”

That earned a laugh, as did her surprised coughing as the alcohol burned its way down, the sweet and bitter flavor clinging to her tongue even as she passed the bottle back to Revan. Some of his sorrow was slipping away, or else he was shielding it again, and the faintest flickers of contentment were flowing through his presence.

Raising the bottle Revan nodded to his friends and fellow leaders, fondness surging around him in a warm burst. “To us. May the Force be with us.”

Nodding in agreement, Meetra continued to lean against the two men, enjoying their camaraderie and body heat as they all reminisced. It started with memories of simpler days as Initiates back on Dantooine, or Padawan missions that ended hilariously poorly thanks to their inexperience and naivety. Eventually, as the bottle emptied, their conversation turned to the troops. Despite the alcohol flowing through their veins, they were careful to only share the humorous stories, the tales of soldiers who didn’t realize how slippery mud was or who used poisonous leaves as ‘fresher paper. Meetra giggled until tears ran down her face as she recounted the time that one young recruit forgot to close his tent flap and a gizka made a home in his boot.

As he was finishing the last drops of whatever liquor Alek had provided, Revan’s laugh truly sounded genuine and the shine of mirth in his dark eyes belonged the man he was before he became their Revanchist. Through it all, Alek’s gaze remained trained on his friend, his admiration flowing forth in luminous waves.

None of them got drunk, at least overly so, but consuming the entire bottle did make them dangerously sleepy. At one point, Meetra must have dozed off pressed against Alek’s much larger form as she savored the ripples of laughter that rumbled through his chest and the copious amount of heat that he produced. It felt like only seconds passed before she was shaken awake by firm hands gripping her shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“Come on, get up.” Revan’s breath fogged in the air, still smelling faintly of liquor. “The blizzard died down enough for us to reach our ships, but we have to move fast. The sun’s setting.”

Despite her sleep and alcohol-muddled mind, Meetra’s body easily fell into the rhythms of a soldier as she hurriedly packed her supplies, donning her extreme weather gear as she stood poised and ready for Revan to carve their way out. The blast of cold air that gusted into the shack the moment the door came loose was enough to clear her thoughts, and she was fully alert by the time the trio was using the Force to push back waist-deep snow.

Eventually, all three of them made it back to their ships and their units, each one the image of a calm and collected Jedi as they delivered apologies about unexpected weather patterns. The new tactics they devised in that shack were extremely effective, gaining victories even as the casualties grew and the pain in Revan’s eyed faded to cold acceptance. The war pushed on, day after day, year after year until Meetra ended the whole damned thing in a single, decisive moment.

She didn’t like to think about that moment.

Still huddled beneath the blankets in her rented room, Meetra took a third swig from her flask and then debated sealing it for the night. She felt warmer, though the sensation was actually a lie, and she was starting to get sleepy. Glancing out the tiny window, she tilted the drink skyward as she stared at the stars twinkling high in the distance.

“To you, Revan,” she whispered into the cold night air. “May the Force always be with you, and may you be one with the Force.”  
  
  
_“So here's a health to the company and one to my lass_  
_Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass_  
_Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain_  
_For we may or might never all meet here again”  
 - Here’s A Health to the Company_ 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is all canon for No Light Without Shadow and its associate alternate universe. So yes, the Revan in this story is Vann, Alek is Malak, and Meetra is the Jedi Exile.
> 
> 2\. The “past” part of this story occurs in 3963, the year that the Jedi entered the Mandalorian Wars in the AU timeline. Revan is 25, Malak is 24, and Meetra is 20 according to their ages in this universe (which differ from their canon ages). The “present” part runs concurrently with NLWS in 3956 and happens at the same time that Vann and Carth are running amok on Taris.
> 
> 3\. I have a theory that canon Revan and the Exile were raised from a very young age in the Jedi Order. It’s definitely canon that Malak/Alek was discovered by the Order as an older child. 
> 
> 4\. I also have a theory that creche-babies are very tactile with each other since they’re raised with almost no sense of personal space. (It’s something I’ve seen happen in large families, and that I’ve heard is common in boarding schools.)


End file.
